


Explosive Expert And The Boss

by dragonheart1330



Series: This Is How We Meet [2]
Category: Achievement Hunter, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, I REGRET NOTHING, Immortal Fake AH Crew, M/M, Michael Can't Stop Running His Mouth, Nothing Inapropriate, Partially Naked Geoff, gta 5 - Freeform, nothing too graphic, only a little blood, people die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:04:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonheart1330/pseuds/dragonheart1330
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Geoff meet now. But why is Geoff only wearing a towel? And why is he covered in blood, holding bloody clothes that he really should be wearing? Michael has no clue, and he's not sure he wants to find out. Especially not if he has to kill the guy, cause talking to the people you're about to kill kind of ruins some of the fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Explosive Expert And The Boss

**Author's Note:**

> So, I got the second little story out. The third should be coming soon. I'm kinda on a roll tonight, and I'm feeling very inspired. Hope y'all enjoy. And like before, kudos and comment. You can request any meeting between any two (or more if you really want that chaos) characters.

Michael busted into the laundromat with his SMG out and ready to fire. There were only two people in there washing their clothes, chatting until the blood-soaked 24-year-old (or at least he looks like it) came crashing in. Not a scream was spilt before bullets pierced lungs, brains, and other important organs. They fell to the ground in growing pools of their own blood.

He grumbled to himself as he stomped over to one of the running machines and popped it open, effectively stopping it while there was still water and soap in it. He shrugged a duffel bag off of his shoulder and quickly unzipped it. He pulled out about ten packages of bloody drugs. He was collecting them for someone who was going to pay him lots for these packages to be unharmed and clean, so he had to wash the blood off of them before he gave them in.

He shoved the first one into soapy water and began to scrub it clean. He continued to grumble angrily. He wasn't too pleased about being shot at, or having blood stain his favourite jacket and his new jeans. He didn't care about his ratty shoes or his shirt, because those were already bloody and they needed to be thrown out soon anyways.

He heard the glass doors open again and spun around with his gun ready in his right hand and a wet package in his left. What met his eyes was a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties with a towel wrapped around his waist and black dress shoes covering his feet. He had short black hair and a handlebar moustache. His eyelids were drooped and there were light bags under his eyes. He had a bit of blood in his hair and on his face.

An impressive batch of tattoos adorned his arms, going over a bit of his chest and back as well. He had a suit jacket, a white dress shirt, black dress pants, and grey boxers. All pieces of clothing were bloody. Even his boxers. Like what the fuck? How did someone get their boxers all bloody like that, even in Michael's line of work.

“What the fuck?” Michael raised an eyebrow at the man who had stopped and was giving the guy with the gun a bored and annoyed look.

“Can I please come in?” he asked, sounding as tired as he looked.

“Why are you only wearing a towel?”

“Why are you covered in blood and carrying a bunch of drugs?”

“You answer first.”

The guy only seemed to get more frustrated, but sighed and opened his mouth to speak none-the-less. “Some guy punched me in the face just because I stole his car so I killed him then had to get through a fucking army of cops before I could get my clothes off, steal someone's towel, and come here to clean my new suit. Now what about you?”

Michael narrowed his eyes and lowered his gun a little, but kept his finger tight on the trigger in case this guy tried any funny business. “Took a job from a guy to get these drugs for a bit of money. Got gunn-chased by a shit ton of coppers to get here. I killed these two ass holes and now I'm cleaning the drug packages in their washing machines and getting their clothes bloody.” he intentionally left out a bunch of information (almost slipping up on a couple of occasions too) to try and deter this guy from taking his haul. He tried not to take out fellow awesome crime people when possible as long as they weren't complete dicks.

Tattoo Guy nodded and took a step forward, only to stop when Michael pointed his gun at him again. He sighed in exasperation and glared at Michael.

“Can you just let me wash my clothes? Please.”

Michael's paranoia and distrust towards to new guy refused to back down. “How can I trust you wont try to kill me?”

He grumbled and pinched the spot between his eyes as if trying to ward off a headache. “My name is Geoff Ramsey. I don't give a shit that you're cleaning your drug money in a laundromat. It's almost 4am now let me wash my fucking boxers.” Michael barely contained a snicker, and Geoff could see it on his face. Truth be told, it was god damn hilarious to see this kid with blood on his chubby, freckled cheeks and in his curly brown hair. He looked so young and so much like a kid that the obvious violence on his skin only helped to nearly make Geoff crack a smile. When the kid finally started to laugh, his lips twisted upwards and he pressed them together to keep from laughing too.

“Fucking hell dude, you're ridiculous.” the kid burst out in gut-wrenching laughter. When he finally calmed, the smiled at Geoff and put is gun down to continued cleaning the drugs he had in a duffel bag. “The name's Michael. Jones.”

“Well nice to meet you Michael Jones.” Geoff entered the laundromat and went to the machine beside Michael's, opening it up and plopping his clothes in. He dumped a bunch of detergent in as well and set it for an hour. Maybe that would be enough time to wash out most of the blood. “And thanks for finally letting into the fucking laundromat. God damn, dude.”

“Well, one can never be too careful in this line of work.” Michael grabbed his fifth package and scrubbed at it. The blood was starting to dry so he had to work harder to clean each one as time wore on.

“Ha. No kidding.” Geoff found himself staring at the boy he didn't even know as his clothes washed. Damn did the kid have muscles. They showed even under his leather jacket and his jeans (and fuck did he look good in those jeans). The blood only added to his look (which was pretty hot, in Geoff's opinion). “Hey kid you got blood all over your face.”

“No shit dude. Dying can do that to a person.” Geoff tensed up, staring at Michael as the boy came to realize his faulty wording. His muscles stiffened (fuuuck did they look nice) and all movement stopped. Geoff could swear the kid didn't breath for the next tense ten seconds. “Uh...I mean-”

Michael was yelling on the inside, cursing himself for fucking up. This is why he didn't talk to people. He always fucked up, and then he had to kill them. He didn't want to kill Geoff, the guy actually seemed pretty cool. FUCK!

Then Geoff started to laugh. Fucking laugh! “Ya, dying really does suck man.”

What. The. Shitting. Fuck.

WHAT!?

Either he's hearing things, or Geoff just said what Michael thinks he actually said. That had better be a fucking joke, because Michael's pretty sure he's gonna shoot himself otherwise. And ya, that hurts, but it's better than this shit show.

“And yes I'm being serious. Great job on the slip up, you could get yourself killed again like that.” the smirk Geoff has on is both grating Michael's nerves and calming them. Maybe there really is another like him.

Without replying, he simply goes back to scrubbing the drugs. Until he feels a hand on his shoulder. The grip is firm, but not hard enough to hurt, and just soft enough that it's a little comforting.

“My clothes are done washing, but maybe we can meet back up some time and go for a few drinks, whine about ever-lasting life together.” Michael sees Geoff's heavily tattooed hand put a small business card down onto his washing machine before he turns around and walks out of the door with his wet clothes in hand.

Michael stares at the card for what seems like hours, and probably is, until he finally picks it up and puts it in his pocket. He grabs the duffel bag and drives off the go deliver it. After receiving the bag of cash he drove home to his dingy little apartment and stared at the card again for hours on end, missing lunch and almost missing dinner too.

On the other end of the city, in an equally dingy apartment, Geoff quickly unlocks his phone as it buzzes. The number is unfamiliar, but he knows instantly who it is texting him. A grin splits his face and he plops himself down onto his couch, re-reading the message a couple times just to be sure.

Alright asshole when and where?


End file.
